


The Gift of Giving

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amaric Laruelle had been a Spy for RED for well-on twenty years, constantly thinking about his job first and foremost.  So much so that he seemingly lives apart from the rest of the men of his team.  But when a new Sniper joins his team, he finds himself thrown face-first into things he's forgotten for so long, like friendship, and lust... and love.</p><p>(Based on the storyline of another of my TF2 fics, 'Of Hard Hats and Baseball Bats', which will be rewritten and finished in the course of this year)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Giving

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for the one, the only, the amazing trossidevil, who seems to appreciate my 'Of Hard Hats and Baseball Bats' teams. Have a little Spy/Sniper!

Amaric Laruelle wasn't an expert when it came to desire. The only experience he'd had with lust and need in the past twenty years of his life had been Lyndon Hartley, his team's sniper. The man had been _very_ tenacious in getting him to share his bed, using all of his rugged charm and his wit to admittedly outwit the Frenchman in a game the likes of which could put any chess game to shame. At first, Amaric had been reserved, keeping back from the rest of the team, especially the engineer, Robert Mursey, because the man had been surly and foul-tempered, drunk more than he was sober, outmatched only by the demoman Duncan Stewart. At first, he'd not thought about something _menial_ and _base_ as _desire._ But of course, all of that had changed when Lyndon had joined the team to replace their old sniper, Seth Young. Not immediately, but over the course of a few months. Just the memory of those days alone was enough to send a soft and unsubtle shiver down Amaric's spine... though the first memory that came to mind thinking of Lyndon wasn't about how their first days together had been, but a memory of how _horrible_ the first few days Lyndon had spent on the team had been...

“ _Amorrick!”, the younger man tried, running a hand through his hair semi-impatiently, and Amaric winced at the sound of his name being mutilated as it was by the heavily accented voice._

“ _Non.” If the sniper was discouraged, he didn't show it, instead pulling softly on one lock of his hair before trying again._

“ _Ahmuhrick?”_

“ _Non.” Now the sniper_ did _show a brief second's disheartenment, but then he tugged the lock of his hair a little harder before trying again, his voice soft and tentative._

“ _Ahmarrick?”_

“ _Closer, but non.”, Amaric said, having to work hard to hold back from smiling at the man. He wasn't supposed to feel anything but impassive at his colleague, just like he felt about all of the others. What made this sniper any different from Seth? What made him more endearing or more worthy of notice?_

“ _...Ah...mah...rick...”, the sniper slowly spelled, sounding as if he literally had to twist his tongue around the word. “Ah-mah-rick. ...No, that doesn't sound roight... S-say it again, mate?”, he asked, and Amaric sighed, shaking his head to hide the fact that he was unable to keep himself from smiling._

“ _Okay, bien... Amaric.”, he said, slowly and emphatically: it looked like the Australian in front of him was doing his best to_ absorb _the sound of the word via his skin or his palate into his brains, and the spy had to hold back another smile, especially when the sniper spoke the sounds slowly._

“ _Ah...mah...reek... Ah-mah-reek?”_

“ _No-” Amaric fully intended to say 'non' again, because that was the simple and honest truth. It still sounded like the sniper had taken his name and dusted it with his own language before giving it back to him. But he halted mid-word and amended: “N-not bad.”_

“ _Really, or are yeh just soyin' that to spare moy feelin's, mate?”_

“ _...Okay, I said eet to spare your feelinks, bushman, but why does eet matter to you so much to pronounce my name right?”, Amaric said, at which point Lyndon gave him a hearty smile and the_ lewdest _and most_ ineffective _comment he'd ever had in the thirty-three years of his life._

“ _Need to know how to say your name roight fer later t'noight, don't oi, mate?”_

Amaric snorted, dismissing the thought. How he'd ever fallen for the man was a mystery if he considered _that_ particular memory.  Lyndon’s remark had been distasteful, to say the least, and the man’s attempts to make light of his words had only made it worse in Amaric’s eyes. After that comment, they hadn't spoken for a week or two, the time it took Lyndon to ease into the job and the time it took _him_ to stop wishing for Seth back because at least the previous bushman had been _uglier than the back-end of a dead elephant_ and thoroughly grumpy. Why he'd fallen for Lyndon if he considered the following events, however, was not a mystery at all. With the sniper at ease in the team – even the usually-brooding Robert spoke to him from time to time, and Hans didn't bother him half as much as he'd kept pestering Seth – the spy had started talking to him again as well, with a polite and professional distance that kept on becoming closer and closer...

“ _Oi notice yeh don't talk much to the others, Amaric, mate.”, Lyndon said one night as the two of them sat in the television room of the base, watching a late-night movie on a ceasefire day. The spy raised an eyebrow as he turned to Lyndon._

“ _...should I talk to zee team more, Laindon?”_

“ _No, oi'm just sayin', don't yeh loike the others?”, the sniper asked, and it was the implications of that question that got Amaric to groan._

“ _Zee ozzers just don't 'ave much to say to me, and I to zem, je pense...” It was only a half-truth, of course: he considered the other men to be either crazy bordering on dangerously insane, or - in at least Robert and Duncan’s case - a liability to his professionalism.  Lyndon didn’t fall in either category, as he wasn’t badly behaven and he wasn’t a drunkard or a druggie.  He expected the Australian to accept the explanation, but was surprised when the man turned to him bearing an expression of mild distrust._

_“Yeh’re loyin’, mate.  ...But come to think of it, Robbie an’ Duncan are drunk more than they’re sober, Hans is a basket coise, Youri’s loike a big choild, Gordon’s only int’restid in his medals and his rocket-launcher, an’ Ron’s jerkin’ off half of the toime-”_

_“Eugh, do you ‘ave to be so deesgustink, Laindon?”, Amaric asked, and Lyndon snorted._

_“Loike_ you _don’t jerk off, Amaric.  Don’t be squeamish, mate, it’s a beautiful thing…  Where wos oi?  Oh yes, so Ron’s… too self-centered…”, he amended mildly, his grin probably mocking the embarrassed blush on Amaric’s face at the mention of another man’s indulgence, but then he continued and Amaric found the implications of his_ next _words take up all his attention: “...That just leaves our good ol’ poyro, Quintin-”_

_“Quintain, ‘is name ees, and ‘im and I do not talk because ‘e ees, ‘ow shall I say-”_

_“Yeh think he’s a poyromaniac?”, Lyndon asked, and Amaric nodded._

_“Well, oui, ‘e seems to enjoy settink zee ozzer team on fire-”  Again, he was interrupted when Lyndon patted him amically on the shoulder, the gesture ending them up shoulder-to-shoulder in a way that made the spy feel somehow remorseful of wearing three layers of cloth._

_“Quinten’s not a poyromaniac, Amaric, he just… loikes th’other team getting their comeuppance.  On ‘is first day in the field, he got killed by oll of ‘em an’ cost the team the match.  He’s never forgiven them.  He’s-”  Suddenly, a somewhat muffled shout came from the hallway, and where Amaric was alarmed, Lyndon merely groaned.  Getting up from his spot right next to Amaric, the sniper walked to the door and opened it, calling into the hallway loud enough for_ all of the team _to hear.  “OI, Robert, Quinten, keep it down, yeh bloody poikahs!”  Amaric winced, half-expecting the engineer or the pyro to come and knock the loud-mouthed and presumptuous sniper out, but instead, no answer came.  The baffled look that he had to give Lyndon got the sniper to shrug and motion for the hallway again after he closed the door to the television room once more and sank down next to Amaric again, still sitting as close as he had been before.  “...Those two… Quinten’s room’s across from moine and oi keep hearing Robert going in there at noight… dunno, maybe oi oughta given them a heads-up first but-”_

_“Robert et Quintain?”, Amaric asked, baffled, and Lyndon nodded._

_“Yeah, oi figured yeh knew, Amaric, mate…  Yeh didn’t, huh?”, he deduced correctly, and Amaric, too baffled by the combined notion that the engineer clearly could enjoy something other than cheap beer and the fact that something so vital to team dynamics had slipped past his guard, nodded dumbly.  “...Oi, now, don’t beat yerself up about it, Amaric, yeh couldn’t know, they go to great lengths keepin’ it hidden-”_

_“N-non, but I should ‘ave known.  Eet ees my job to monitor zee ozzer team_ and _our own, so dat I know when somethink ees amees-”  Suddenly, Lyndon sat up a little more straight and looked at Amaric._

 _“Look, Amaric, yeh’re only_ human _, mate.  Yeh’re olways so bloody focused on doing a proper job… yeh should look to the rest of the team too, mate.  That’s why oi asked yeh why you don’t talk to the others: oi’m a little worried for your head.  Too much stress an’ not enough relaxation will do your head in, mate.  Do somethin’ you enjoy too.  Read a book, wotch a movie - oi’m more than happy to sacrifoice my toime if yeh need someone to keep you company.”_

_“Well…”  Amaric meant to say that he shouldn’t become too friendly with anyone on the team, because he needed to keep his focus, but the sniper shook his head and spoke in a low, commanding voice that got the spy to instantly abandon all protests and nod meekly._

_“It_ wosn’t _a_ suggestion _, mate.”_

Amaric supposed that that day was when he’d started falling for Lyndon.  That commanding tone, that low and somewhat seductive but definitely compelling timbre to his voice… he’d sat in the sofa, still shoulder-to-shoulder with Lyndon, watching a documentary on the NATO, and he had had to admit that, by the end of it, he felt a little less high-strung.  Lyndon had seen it as well, because he’d made that documentary the first of many television moments on ceasefire days.  Gordon and Duncan had protested at first, but Lyndon got them to back down and give them at least two hours of space each ceasefire day, stating that he did it for Amaric.

Exactly what Amaric did for _him_ , of course, became painfully obvious on that one day when the spy _hadn’t_ been able to relax no matter what they watched…

_“Oi, Amaric, stop yer squirming, oi’m not buyin’ that you find this boring!”, Lyndon said a little snappishly as the spy fidgeted in the sofa yet again.  It was true that the spy didn’t find the movie boring - the black-and-white western was compelling and at the very least entertaining enough to make any protest he had fall away quickly - but he was getting distracted constantly by little things, such as Lyndon’s somewhat huffy exhales or the way the sniper tensed every so often.  It caused him to answer back._

_“I am not zee only one ‘squirmink’, mon ami, you keep deestractink me from zee movie.”_

_“Yeah, well… just wotch the bloody movie…”, the sniper said, motioning for the spy to turn his attention back to the screen.  For five brilliant minutes, it worked, until Lyndon again shifted his weight next to him and Amaric turned back to him._

_“Laindon, eef_ you _find zis movie borink-”  Suddenly, however, the sniper groaned and pushed the spy away._

_“Oh, fer god’s sake… go on, off with yeh, oi’ll wotch the bloody movie by myself!”, he said huffily, turning ostensibly away from the spy, leaving Amaric to blink but step slowly towards the door, keeping his eyes on Lyndon, unsure how he’d upset the sniper._

_“I did not mean-”, he started, but the Australian snorted and waved him off somewhat dismissively, leaving Amaric to go back to his room wondering what he’d done wrong.  Inside his room, on his desk, he found his book where he’d left it when Lyndon had come to get him - picking it up, he saw a dog-ear and groaned, straightening it absent-mindedly before sighing and putting a page marker in the book and closing it, instead musing on what could have upset Lyndon.  The sniper had been the high-strung one for once that day, unable to relax and unable to speak more than three words once they’d sat in the sofa where he usually liberally offered his comments on the movie or the program they were watching.  Amaric had become increasingly more distracted and tense, yes, but only because_ Lyndon _was…_

 _“Oh, faut que j’lui parle…”, he muttered to himself, straightening his tie before walking out to the television room again, which he found empty, to his utter surprise.  Blinking, he walked to the bathroom, looking for Lyndon there, thinking that he maybe had needed a bathroom break - all that fidgeting could’ve meant he’d had to relieve himself - but the bathrooms were empty as well.  That only left Lyndon’s room… but why had the sniper retreated to his room practically the second after he’d said he’d watch the movie by himself?  Amaric walked briskly up to the sniper’s room but, just as he intended to knock, he heard a soft, almost_ melodious _groan issue from inside and he instead pressed his ear to the door._

 _“...bloody… sittin’ there like… couldn’t take it… oh, god… Ahhh… Amaric…”  Stunned, Amaric pulled his ear away from the door and took a step back.  Lyndon had not just_ moaned _his name.  His feet carried him back to his own room, to his own bed, and his daze only lifted as he sat looking at his hands.  Lyndon had moaned his name.  He couldn’t have mistaken it, nor could he mistake the tone for anything other than longing and passionate.  The man he considered a friend among his team was at the very least aroused by him.  And that made two things painfully clear to him.  The first was that he really needed to talk to Lyndon.  And the second was that he needed to_ lie _his way out of the predicament he now found himself in, because his tailor-made burgundy suit and his silk briefs had_ not _been as tight and constricting_ before _he’d decided to knock on the sniper’s door._

 

_“...Laindon?”  He’d strategically waited an hour before knocking on his friend’s door, both to give the man the time to finish his business and to allow his own body to wind back down slowly.  As it turned out, ‘slowly’ had meant ‘excruciatingly slowly’, because he kept hearing Lyndon’s groan and the soft but unmistakeable creak of the sniper’s bed, and his own arousal had been fuelled by just the memory of those sounds.    Just the thought of how long it’d taken him to calm his body, which was unimpressed by his rational analysis of the sniper’s sudden longing, made the spy’s tone a little less warm.  “Come on, Laindon, I ‘ave not got all zee day…”_

_“Whot’s wrong, mate?”, the sniper asked, opening his door to reveal he’d taken off his uniform already for the day, instead wearing khaki slacks and having his long hair in a_ ridiculous _low ponytail that seemed to highlight his facial features all the better-  Amaric swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and got a firm grip on himself again, reminding himself once more of the fact that he needed to lie his way out of the predicament he was in._

_“...look, Laindon, I… ‘ave to be ‘onest to you… earlier, when you were angry at moi-”_

_“Amaric, mate , ‘t wos nothin’.  Forget oi even told you to take a hoike.”, the sniper said, smiling his usual charming smile, and Amaric’s resolve faltered again.  It took him several minutes more to remind himself of his reason for going there and his need to lie to get the sniper to once again turn polite but distant to him: in the end, when he told himself it was the only way to keep doing his job remotely okay, he felt a wry sense of discomfort again._

_“Laindon, zat was not why I brought dis up.  I came lookink for you after dat-”  The sniper looked a little less comfortable now, and he even managed a somewhat shy blush that made Amaric’s resolve falter once again.  However, this time he got a grip on his unruly thoughts again sooner and he spoke on in a tenacious but decisive tone: “-and bushman, I sought I ‘ad been clear zee first day zat-”_

_“Look, Amaric…”, Lyndon said, shaking his head with an expression of guilt on his face, and for a splendid,_ brilliant _second Amaric’s heart fell at the thought of the sniper actually turning polite but distant to him while it soared at the same time at the prospect of being able to focus fully on his job again… but then the sniper continued: “Oi’m_ not _apologisin’ fer whot I do in th’privacy of my room, mate.  Yeh got an earful, prob’ly even heard me say your name?  Well, oi’m not hidin’ the fact that oi’m attracted to ya, mate.  Oi’m not sorry fer it either.”_

 _“But… Laindon, ‘ow can we be friends eef you… eef I know you weel-”, Amaric started to say, stammering as he was utterly confused how to react to his friend not denying and even_ proudly admitting _having fantasized about him, but the Australian cut him off with another shake of his head and a open, questioning look that made the Frenchman’s heart seem to stop in his chest more so than his words._

 _“Look, Amaric, be honest with yerself for once - or ‘s being the best at bein’ a bloody_ spoy _more important to ya than bein’_ aloive _for th’first time?  Constantly bein’ wound-up an’ tense, it’s not good fer anyone to be.”_

_“Laindon… I…  Je peux pas le faire.  Je peux pas abandonner-  I cannot.  ‘Ow can I eendulge myself eef deestraction could get us killed, Laindon?”  The sniper’s answer was short and brutally poignant._

_“How can yeh say ‘indulgin’ yourself’ will distract yeh more than… than whotever this is supposed to be, mate?”  Amaric stood in front of the sniper’s door for ten stunned, silent, long seconds, contemplating the honest and rational truth in the other man’s words.  Then, however, before he had any chance to react, Lyndon’s hand closed around his wrist and he pulled him into his room, closing the door deliberately before slowly pulling his suit jacket off, which finally got the spy to voice a protest._

_“Laindon, fais-pas-”_

_“Look, yeh moybe think denial looks bloody cute on you or something, Amaric, mate, but oi don’t see you runnin’ away oither.”, the sniper reacted, and finally Amaric relented and sighed._

_“...I do not sink denial looks_ cute _on me, Laindon.”_

 _“Oi can think of a couple of looks that’d look amoizin’ on you, though.”, Lyndon joked, and with a light chuckle - more because of the seriously_ bad _pick-up line the sniper had just tried to use on him than because he wanted to laugh away the sentiment - Amaric let his arms snake around Lyndon’s torso to hold him close._

The spy still couldn’t help but chuckle softly as he remembered that afternoon.  Lyndon hadn’t been very patient, which turned out to be exactly what he’d needed to let go of his tension.  He’d been exactly how Amaric had expected him to be: self-assured until Amaric started to reciprocate, then he’d turned a lot more shy and a lot less sure.  But when they’d laid in each other’s arms afterwards, feeling tired and, at least in Amaric’s case, completely unwound, they’d had to give each other just one look to know that it was more than just satisfaction that got them to lazily smile at each other…

_“Oi, Amaric…”_

_“Oui?”  The spy stretched and turned in the other man’s loose but unbreakable hold, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than their previous tryst had.  A chuckle followed the gesture and the sniper’s calloused hand moved up to his, their fingers entwining._

_“...fer a man that’s always so uptight, yeh sure look oll relaxed now, mate.”_

_“Yes, funny ‘ow zee intercourse does zat to a man.”, Amaric said a little indulgently, but the sniper again shook his head and spoke in that low, seductive, utterly heartstopping tone he used when he wouldn’t allow any objection from the Frenchman._

_“_ Love _does that to a man, Amaric.  Oi do_ not _bleedin’ screw around senselessly.”  When Amaric regarded him with mingled surprise and slight mirth, the man blushed again and added: “Oi took one look at yeh, mate, an’ oi fell.  Ever since that first day.”_

_“Zat long?”, Amaric asked, and now Lyndon managed a soft, lopsided grin._

_“Moy mother used to say ‘love is patient, Lyndon, don’t you give up too easily.  Love is patient, love is kind, an’ love is undeniable.’ - an’ t’day, we both found that out, roight?”  Amaric nodded, letting his hand move slowly to Lyndon’s cheek._

_“Oui, today we ‘ave both found dis out, Laindon, mon cher.”_

All in all, Amaric Laruelle couldn’t pretend that he was an expert when it came to desire.  Lyndon was a lot better at spotting it in him than even he himself was.  But over the course of nine years, he’d become an expert in seeing desire in his Australian partner.  And when he talked to the BLU sniper, Gary Longford, it was _oozing_ from him, making his every move falter and his every word sound slightly apprehensive.  To anyone else looking in, it just appeared like Lyndon was apprehensive about meeting his counterpart from BLU, as they all were, but Amaric knew better.  Turning to his own colleague on BLU, Jean-Marie, he smiled softly and spoke up in apology.

“M’excuses, mon ami, but Laindon looks like ‘e needs zee rescue.”

“Oh?”, the Belgian said, looking over at the two snipers and then sighing.  “...Gary ees alright usually, but ‘e ‘as been… aloof… ever since we told zee ozzers about zee respawn computers et zee link between RED and BLU.  ...Go on, save your friend - do you want me to tell Gary-”

“Oh, non, dat weel not be nécessaire, mon ami… I weel go and ‘elp dem get familiar.”  Moving off, he waved at the two snipers: Lyndon tensed even more when he joined them, and Gary’s shoulders seemed to slump.  “...Mes amis, ‘ow goes eet with you?”, Amaric asked, and Lyndon shrugged.

“‘s Okay, ‘s okay… Gary here’s a pretty good snoipah-”

“Yeh’re sellin’ yerself short there, mate, you’re better outta the two of us.”  Their accents were slightly different, showing that Gary had been in America a lot longer than Lyndon had - but Amaric was a lot more focused on the half-grin his lover got when given a compliment by the older Australian.  “...Uh, so you’re their spoy?”

“Amaric Laruelle, at your service.  ...Look, Gary, I sink per’aps you et Laindon would need to talk somewhere more private, non?  Zee presence of zee ozzers of your team ees not puttink you at ease, je pense.”  The older sniper again shrugged and Amaric turned to Lyndon.  “Allez, mon cher, talk with ‘im in zee RED base, no one ees dere anyway, we are all down ‘ere for zee ‘ackink.  Per’aps dere we can see if we cannot get you both unwound.”  It was that last word, ‘unwound’, that got the younger sniper to raise an eyebrow and pull Amaric aside for a second.

“Amaric, mate, y-you… gotta be kidding me… oi-”

“I can see ‘ow you desire ‘im, mon cher.  I can tell you ‘ave desired ‘im for some time, too, and eet does not look like ‘e ees… unresponsive… to zee idea.”, he said - it was hard for Lyndon to deny the outright desire in the other sniper’s sudden grin when Amaric had spoken of unwinding, clearly, because the sniper sighed and gently shook his head.

“‘s not roight.  Oi got you.”, he admitted meekly, and Amaric gently smiled.

“I deed not say that _you_ could ‘ave all zee fun _alone_ , mon cher - we are een dis togezzer or we are not.  ...And as for you ‘avink me… j’pense que tu sais bien… I sink you know very well, Laindon, dat zee desire and zee amour are very different.  ...Consider us eendulgink with ton collègue de BLU a… leetle gift…”

“A gift, mate?  ‘Ow’s that a gift?”

“...The gift, mon amour, of _givink_.”  Lyndon clearly couldn’t make sense of his words at first, but then it hit him and he smiled.

“The gift of givin’... oh, Amaric, you are bloody perfect, an’ oi love yeh just the same as you love me…”  He nodded and turned back to Gary, smiling kindly.  “...Oi, Gary, Amaric’s roight, yeh look like you could use a li’l quiet so we can talk all the bettah.  Moind Amaric bein’ there too?”

“Not ‘t oll, mates!”, Gary said, following Amaric as he led the way up the stairs, with Lyndon right behind him.  The sniper and spy from RED walked close together and occasionally brushed hands or hips, each time smiling at one another  before smiling back at the BLU sniper, who answered their smile with unvoiced promises all of his own that made the remainder of their evening seem all the more lovely...

 

_“...Oi, Amaric?”  A whisper in the dead of night, long after their desire was sated._

_“Oui?”_

_“...Whot’s all this mean to yeh?”_

_“Do you ‘ave to ask, mon cher?”  Hands reached for hands, fingers entwining in a gentle, soothing way, and a heavy sigh followed in the dark._

_“Yeah, I got to ask.  Oi got to know for sure, love.  I don’t loike getting all sappy and romantic on yeh-”  Another sigh, this one lighter and more amused, followed, and the rustle of sheets sounded before a soft kiss was clearly given, an almost inaudible but loving press of lips to skin._

_“I like eet.  And to answer your question, mon amour, ‘all dis’ means to me nozzink._ You _mean to me everysink.  Beink in dis bed with you, fallink asleep next to zee man zat loves me so dearly… eet means to me everyshink.  You give me so much, Laindon… I can never repay your love enough.”_

_“See, that’s the beauty about love, Amaric, ‘s nothin’ yeh need to repay.  Consider it the gift of givin’.”  Another kiss, this time not as light, followed, and then a soft chuckle in the dark as two men settled against each other for the night, arms wrapped around the other to keep them close even while fast asleep.  “...G’noight, Amaric, love.”_

_“Bonne nuit, mon cher Laindon.”_


End file.
